I Could Be a Morning Sunrise
by helebette
Summary: They taught Dexter to be human and now Hannah and Deb carve out a future post-series. Non-canon, based on the premise that Dexter doesn't make it through his final test. Femslash ahead.


She irons Deb's shirts now.

Every morning she gets up, puts together breakfast, and then irons Deb's uniform or dress shirts, while Deb gets Harrison ready for daycare.

Then she hands them both a bagged lunch, kisses Harrison goodbye, and gets to work in the greenhouse out back. Deb usually leaves without saying much of anything. But on the mornings when she finds her clothes waiting for her—pressed and hanging neatly—she gives a grudging smirk-smile and a nod.

It's been eight months since they threw two dead bodies into the water together. Eight months since they covered up two murders.

In a showdown worthy of the O.K. Corral, Dexter and the man who should have been his final kill managed to somehow kill one another. Like an addict overdosing on his final hit, Dexter died with a look of shock mixed with resignation.

Harrison moved in with Deb immediately. And Deb, faithful to other promises, kept protecting Hannah.

"Until you decide whatever the fuck you want to do." Deb mutters into her newspaper. "Fuck if I care…" is her mantra when it comes to Hannah.

Except that she does care. She cares because Dexter loved Hannah. Loved. Which is weird, because psychopaths aren't supposed to love people. But Dexter loved all of them. Deb, Harrison, Hannah—they are the living evidence of his humanity.

When Hannah tells Deb this theory, Deb just turns around and bursts into quiet tears.

It's been three weeks since they started sleeping together.

Harrison had been with Jamie and a tropical storm had hit hard. With the power out, and freezing winds, Hannah could imagine the end of things. She found herself standing outside, rubbing her arms against the rain. Her dress was soaked. She imagined herself stepping into the water, being swept out. Finally dying. Because wasn't that what she deserved?

When she tried, Deb ran after her. The waves crashed and water rushed into her lungs, but Deb brought her back from the brink. Dragged her into the house. Wrapped her in a blanket and asked (screamed) what the fuck she thought she was fucking goddam doing for shit-fucking-sake?

She couldn't help but laugh. Coughing still, laughing at Deb's expletives, Hannah had been shocked when Deb's mouth suddenly pressed heatedly to her own.

Surprised or not, Hannah kissed her back. Cupped her face and kissed her, hard, only to be kissed even harder in return. The rest was a haze as she laid back on the couch, feeling those lips bruise her neck, feeling Deb's hand, her fingers roughly entering her. And Deb's body, warm and strong and slight, hovering over her, anchoring her to this world again.

They didn't talk about it.

The next day, Hannah made lunch on an outdoor fire next to the greenhouse while Deb laughed and watched her, drinking a beer and shaking her head. Deb actually thanked her for the food. And Hannah, suddenly craving the warmth of those hands again, had leaned and kissed her neck while they sat side by side.

Deb seemed to like it gentler than Hannah. She'd gaze down to where Hannah licked her cunt, so softly and insistently, before sliding a finger inside. Just one finger. And it would make Deb cum in deep waves. Fuck. That part was good. Hannah liked making Deb cum—liked the dazed look on her face when Hannah would lick her lips and suck her own fingers, tasting the other woman.

And after that, things were good. Just…_good_. None of the things that normally happened ever did. Deb didn't start yelling at her or controlling her every move. She stopped making fucked up comments about Hannah's past after asking,

"Husband number one. He hit you, didn't he?"

Ok, so Deb sometimes had the subtly of a fucking pick-ax in the head, but she could say these sorts of things in a way that set a woman like Hannah at ease. There was compassion there. And empathy. Hannah wasn't used to empathy. It was interesting.

Hannah just nodded, shoveled more noodles into her mouth, then got up and added more to Harrison's plate.

Of course the kid is still grieving. He draws pictures of his mother, his father, and pools of blood that worry both of the women who now raise him. They put him into some kind of play therapy group to work through things.

Correction. Hannah doesn't put Harrison into therapy, Deb does. Hannah doesn't exist any longer.

"Are you going to leave?" Deb asks one night, while they lay together, naked and sweaty, after an intense but quiet fuck. Hannah rests her cheek on Deb's shoulder, which is shocking—shocking that Deb allows it. Even more shocking, is the way Deb's fingers weave through her hair and the way her voice gives away that hint of anxiety.

"I always leave." Hannah answers, confusion evident.

The next morning, she irons Deb's uniform for some official function.

Then she packs.

Harrison is with Jamie for the day. Hannah knows how much time she has to prepare.

The passports are first. They're the same ones that Dexter gave her. Hannah hid them in the greenhouse when they first moved. The cash is second. It's buried in actual dirt, in a clear plastic bag.

But then…

She does nothing.

Hannah just sits and stares at the money in her hands. She imagines buying Harrison new shoes. The red ones he talked about one day.

And minutes later, Deb rushes in the front door, unbelievably cute in her uniform, interrupting Hannah's preparations or whatever the fuck she was doing. She's carrying a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine. She sort of spins in place when Hannah sees her. They stare at one another in the kitchen. Deb mutters something incoherent but then says loudly, "I never thanked you for the shirt." And she plunks down the flowers and the wine and smiles at them. She's smiling at Hannah then, and it's the most adorable, crooked grin Hannah has ever seen.

Something about it changes her mind completely. Hannah steps closer, brushes Deb's hair back over her ear, and tilts her chin up for a kiss.

"Wait…" Deb sees the suitcase through the doorway to the other woman's room. "Where are you going?" her eyes flash back and forth, and there is sudden and deep hurt there. Like the kind Hannah saw on the night they sent Dexter to his final resting place, his watery grave. Deb had looked resigned, like she knew this was coming.

"Nowhere." Hannah says firmly. Her mouth presses to Deb's neck again, pulse hammering above the starched collar of her dark blue shirt. Her arms wind around Deb's thin waist, carefully avoiding the heavy belt and clunky gun. "I thought I was going somewhere, but I'm not now."

There are still those days when Deb looks at her like she's someone dangerous. And there are those days when Hanna isn't sure that the look is unwarranted. Maybe they balance each other. A negative and a positive and within each is the other's opposite as well.

They fight sometimes. It usually consists of Deb swearing a lot before wandering out back to drink beer until she sorts it all out. Hannah waits for an explosion that never comes. Neither is very good at maintaining relationships and so this still surprises them. But there are flowers on the table, and there is a child whose presence keeps them focused on creating some kind of good in the world. And in themselves. They know each other's crimes. Somehow, this builds trust rather than breaking it. And more often than not, when Deb blows up, she apologizes soon after. With a kiss or a random embrace. Her hands are always kind. She just swears a lot which is sort of amusing after awhile.

And now, instead of poison, Hannah's greenhouse specializes in herbs for healing or cooking, and she teaches her family about each one. The brightness of the sun through those clear glass windows brings out some brightness in Deb especially.

One day, Hannah decides to tell the woman how she feels. She brings a single purple Iris to Deb's room and climbs into bed beside her. When she says the words, they make Deb cry and swear her head off about 'fucking lesbian melodrama.' Still, she moves the sheets to make room for Hannah. After that, it's _their_ room.

There is peace in Hannah's days. She grows new life and sends her apologies out to the sun. And at night, Deb's body presses to her own, warming her from the inside out.


End file.
